Civilised Existence
by Fyrie
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin tells Belle to go. Belle goes. But sometimes, you can't escape your happily ever after.
1. Turning

Notes: This is my first proper chaptered AU, set immediately after Rumpelstiltskin dismisses Belle from the Dark Castle. Ideally, I intend to update it daily.

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Chapter 1 - Turning

"Go."

He'd said it. She'd left. No, she'd started to leave, then she came back and was all… her, all strong and stubborn and her. And she called him a coward. And _then_ she left, and he was alone.

Rumpelstiltskin walked through the deserted halls of his castle, through the corridors sliced by the light of dawn. He had grown accustomed to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, the flurry of her skirts, even the way she swore at the dust when she thought he couldn't hear her.

He could almost hear her now.

No.

He _could_ hear her now!

"Rumpelstiltskin!" Belle exclaimed, whirling on him as he stalked into his spinning room. She was standing there, exactly as she had looked less than half an hour before, her hands on her hips, and she looked at him furiously. "You did this!"

He eyed her warily, too startled to find her back to be angry, and too angry with himself for being so pleased. "You were leaving, dearie. I didn't ask you to return."

She stormed towards him and jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "You stood there and let me walk out, and there I was, thinking you were going to be decent about it, and then you magic me back? What kind of low trick is that?"

He swatted her hand away, baring his teeth. "What makes you think I want you back?" he hissed.

She snorted in that unladylike way of hers and folded her arms over her chest. "I was at the walls," she said. "I walked through the gates, and now I'm here. Are you telling me that I walked two miles and then just decided to magically stop by here, just for fun?"

He stared at her. Her frown faded as she stared back at him.

"You… didn't summon me back?"

He shook his head slowly. "Don't look at me, dearie," he said, raising his hands.

She threw her hands up. "So what did, then?" she demanded. "I don't think there's anyone out there who would enchant me to stay in the castle with someone I love, when he's an absolute imbecile and wants to pretend I mean as much to him as a boiled egg."

"Ah-ah!" Rumpelstiltskin wagged a finger. "You chose to leave!"

"Yes!" she retorted. "After you _told_ me to! Don't you dare make this about you! You're the one who accused me of being a liar and betraying you! You're…" She pressed her hands to her temples then threw them wide again. "I don't know what you are, but I know you're driving me crazy!"

He folded his arms over his chest in defence. "You can leave," he said, more quietly this time. "I won't hold you back."

She grabbed the front of his shirt. For a moment, she looked as if she couldn't decide between kissing him again or shaking him. She dragged her hands back and turned and stalked away, slamming the door behind her.

He remained there, swaying on the spot for several minutes. If only she had just gone, the first time, he wouldn't have had to doubt himself, second-guess whether it was all lies or a trick. The fury and frustration in her expression was genuine, he had no doubt of that.

He made his way to the wheel, stiff-legged, and sat. To spin would resolve things. It cleared his head. Even though his fingers were trembling, he started to turn the wheel, and he could almost twist the fresh straw into familiar gold. Almost. It wasn't a smooth enough motion, or steady enough hands.

Less than half an hour later, someone swatted him sharply across the back of the head.

He spun up onto his feet, baring his teeth, only to see Belle standing there, less than an arm's length away. Her arms were folded, and she was glaring at him. Her dress was muddy at the hem, her hair wind-swept and bedraggled.

"Won't hold me back?" she snapped.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Again," she growled. "You forgot the 'again'."

He shied back a step from her wrath. "I don't understand."

"You and me both," she said, stepping closer. "If this is your way of telling me you want me to stay, it's not funny."

He blinked helplessly at her. It wasn't making any sense at all. In his house, his rules applied. He told someone to do something, they did. He told them to bury themselves in the rose garden, they did it. He told them to leave, they left.

Except, apparently, Belle.

And from the look on her face, this was not amusing irony.

"I want an explanation."

Rumpelstiltskin fiddled with the piece of straw he was holding. "I don't know," he said in a small voice.

She exhaled her breath in a noisy rush and brought both hands up to rub her eyes. "I spent last night in a dungeon," she said, her voice low and steady and struggling to stay calm, "because I was trying to do the right thing. Yesterday, I could have left, when the option was there. But today? When I want to? I can't." She lowered her hands and glared at him again. He couldn't help noticing her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. "And now, you're telling me you're totally innocent?"

The straw in his hand was twisted into a knot. "I didn't make you stay," he said to his feet.

She glowered at him, then stamped over to his chair and threw herself down in it. Only then did the energy seem to drain out of her.

"Why did you want me here?" she asked quietly, sadly.

He looked down at the straw knot, then back at her. He had never truly answered that question, the first time she asked, and now, when she asked again, he knew he didn't need to answer. She got it right the first time: he was lonely.

He twisted the straw a little more, then ventured a little closer to the table to set the tiny straw man down on the surface, balancing it between his fingertips. She was looking at him with tired expectation, and he had no answers he could give her.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she said.

"I wouldn't imprison you here against your will, dearie," he said quietly, removing his fingers slowly to leave the tiny figure standing on its own. "I thought you knew me well enough to know that." He looked at her, then stepped back from the table.

"I thought I did," she said quietly.

His chest felt as if it tightened around his heart. "Belle…"

She rose, silencing him with a gesture. "Don't," she said wearily. "Don't say my name like that, as if you have a right to it." She rubbed her forehead with her hand. "I need to rest. I'm tired."

He nodded, lowering his head. "Your room is still there."

Her eyes were on him, he could practically feel them searing into him. "Which one?" she asked, and it was like a physical blow.

His hands moved awkwardly , halfway towards clasping them together, then they dropped back, one of them tapping uncertainly at the back of the ornate chair. "Your real room," he said quietly.

He didn't dare to look up until he heard the doors close behind her.


	2. Wandering

Notes: Just a small favour, please, reviewers - I am *not* in America, so please don't mention what happened in the latest episode of Once Upon a Time on the night it aired, because I won't see it until at least 18 hours later, but I will check my e-mails in the interim. Please not to be spoiling me.

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Chapter Two - Wandering

Belle slept.

She wasn't quite sure how, given how cross she was, but exhaustion caught up with her. Hours of walking to and from town, followed by Rumpelstiltskin's temper tantrum and all her hopes evaporating had been draining enough. Hours in a dungeon on top of that, then whatever silly magic trick he was doing to keep her bound to the dark castle only made things worse.

The sun was heading towards the horizon when she woke, and she contemplated the canopy of her bed for a few minutes before she sat up, going over everything that had been said and done within the last twenty-four hours.

The conclusion, she decided, was that he was an idiot.

She got up from the bed and pushed the curtains wide open. She had a view of the distant walls and gates and the mountains beyond. It was beautiful, but that didn't stop it being a prison again. Over the last few months, it had almost started to feel like a home, and now, with rage and stupidity and sheer bloody-mindedness, he had turned it back into a prison.

She took a breath. There was no use in moping about it. She could try and leave again, but first of all, she needed to get something to eat. Her stomach was practically growling. She hadn't eaten since her brief visit to the town, and even then, it was only a sweet pastry, hardly filling at all.

She dressed, then gathered up her blue dress. It was crusted with dirt along the hem, which annoyed her all over again. If he hadn't sent her out on the wild goose chase for freedom, it would still have been clean enough to wear again. She laid it over the chair. If leaving didn't work for the third time, then at least she had some cleaning to do.

Only when she reached the door of the room did she hesitate. For the first time since she had relocated from the dungeon, she had locked the door behind her. She turned the key, unlocking it, and promptly almost tripped over a small table just outside of the door. There was a teaset and cup, and even a carefully-made breakfast, steam still rising from the meat and eggs. She hadn't heard him sneaking about, so she guessed that he had enchanted it to stay warm.

It smelled good, but even a plate of perfectly-cooked bacon and eggs wasn't going to make up for the fact that he had been an idiot.

She ignored it and the protests of her stomach and stamped off in the direction of the kitchens to prepare her own.

With food in her belly, and some more packed up in a basket, she headed for the walls again. If he was skulking about - which she knew he would be, avoiding her and further confrontation like the coward he was - he didn't make his presence known.

She stepped through the gates with a sense of resignation, and wasn't the least bit surprised when her foot came down on the carpet of the grand dining room. He wasn't there, at least, so she didn't feel any guilt at all about kicking over one of the pedestals and leaving the shiny golden cup rolling on the floor.

By the time she got back to her room, the little table was gone. So he was definitely somewhere in the castle? Well, she wasn't going to chase after him. It wasn't worth the effort just to give him her best chastising look. If he wanted to hide like a coward, then he could hide. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of chasing him around.

She gathered up her dirty dress, cloak and shoes, and headed down to the laundry room. There was something soothing about scrubbing the fabric against the washboard. All the pent-up frustration could be taken out on the specks of mud.

By the time she emerged, her hands were red and her fingers ached, but her dress and cloak were clean and strung up to dry. Her shoes, unfortunately, were past salvation. There were stains in them that no scrubbing would get out, but really, who else was likely to see them?

The sun was gone, and the evening chill was descending on the castle. It was tempting to go to the dining room, with the fire that always burned in the broad fireplace. She stood in the hall for a long while, before finally walking to the doors. If he was there, he was there, but she was not going to lock herself away in a cold, dark room just because he was being a petulant man.

He was there, at his wheel, clad in the ragged, inhuman clothing he had worn the first time they met. He looked as nervous about seeing her as she felt about facing him. He stood, one of those little mannerisms of his that suggested once he knew how to be a gentleman, but she ignored it to drag one of the chairs closer to the fire.

She pulled her legs up into the chair. Sometimes, she used to bring a book with her, but not now. Now, she was quite willing to let him stew and wonder what she had in mind for him. He was astute enough to know she was still angry, which was a start, but not enough for him to apologise and release her.

And yet, she wondered about that.

He had seemed as surprised as she did when she reappeared in the halls of the castle.

For an all-powerful magical creature, he didn't seem to know quite what his magic was doing to keep her there. Maybe, it was his way of showing that he really wanted her to stay, even though he protested otherwise. Maybe it was something else and much more malicious at play.

She arranged her skirt over her legs, then curled up with her head propped on her arms, which were resting on the padded arm of the chair. It was peaceful to watch the flames, and on the edge of her awareness, she heard the creak of his stool as he sat back down, then the quiet squeaks of the spinning wheel as it began to turn again.

As much as she was annoyed with him, she mused, her eyes growing heavier, she would rather be angry and with him, than angry and without him.


	3. Sleeping

There was a tension there that wasn't there before.

Even when Belle first arrived, there was no animosity. She had agreed to come, so the only agitation came from the delight he took in terrorising her. It had been a delight as well. Everyone knew the stories of the monster in the castle, and even if most of them weren't true, there was enough mischief in him to want to see just what she would believe.

She should have left.

She had tried.

He watched her from the shadows when she tried again. He could taste the crackle of power as she tried to cross the boundaries of his estate, and saw it sweep her from the edge back to the heart of his domain. He was sure it was not his doing, and yet, he could find no trace of another's magic on the fringes of his lands.

He returned to the castle, and made sure to keep out of her way as much as possible. After his peace-offering of breakfast was rejected, he was afraid that she would be out for blood. The occasional glimpse of her told him she was still furious, and from the beating she gave her clothing in the laundry, he had a feeling it was better that the fabric took the brunt of her temper rather than him.

It was all ridiculous, hiding in his own castle from a slip of a girl in a temper.

Still, it felt far safer than confronting her.

To feel more himself, rather than the more formal attire he had taken to wearing in her presence, he wrapped himself in the dragon-hide coat, trying to remember what it was not to care, to make him that creature again.

The clothes, it seemed, did not make the man.

The moment she entered his spinning chamber, his body unfolded automatically to stand and acknowledge the lady's arrival, even if she completely ignored him.

And so, then tension lingered.

He tried to spin, but the thread knotted and tangled. He could feel her ire, even though she was hidden by him by the broad back of his own grand chair. The only sound was the creak of the wheel and the crackle of the flames.

Another sound eventually overlapped them both: the sound of a young woman snoring.

He slowed the wheel and rose on light feet to approach the chair.

Belle, while gracious and delicate in many respects, lost all inhibitions in sleep. She was curled up like a lazy cat, limbs draped this way and that, her dark curls tumbling around her pink cheeks. Rumpelstiltskin put his head to one side, watching as one of the strand that had fallen across her lips moved, rising and falling with every noisy breath.

He had no doubt that if he left her there, she would have stiffness and aching bones within hours, and at the present moment, she really didn't need any more reasons to be annoyed with him. He glanced at his hands, wondering how hard she would throw something at him, if he ventured using magic to transport her to her room.

After all, magic was an untamed creature, even if it sometimes curled to your will.

If he tried to send her anywhere, she was quite likely to bounce straight back to him, twice as hard, and that would result in more anger and frustration.

Gingerly, he bent and slipped her arms under her legs and her back. He had held her before. It was not as if this was breaking into new and forbidden territory. She was as small, soft and warm as he remembered, and when she shifted, leaning into him, he realised that it was a terrible, terrible idea.

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to imagine something mundane and dull. A sack of wool, ready for market. Even if a sack of wool didn't snort quietly in its sleep and murmur some nonsense or other.

Her room. His intention was to take her to her room.

It took some time. Partly because he did not want to jar her, and partly because she curled against him like a demanding pet and her breath was warm on his neck, and for a moment, he forgot where he was standing. Several times. It didn't help that the castle was large, and that she was not conscious enough to point him in the right direction.

Love really was the biggest deception in the world.

A source of happiness? Ha! Distraction, hurt, and confusion was all that came of it.

The door of her room was ajar, and the moonlight lit an obliging path to the bed. He hesitated at the threshold. It was his castle, but their unspoken rules dictated that this was the one place that was hers.

He forced himself to enter the room, not to look around to see what little tokens she had. It was her place, and he had already upset her enough. It would be fine to lay her on her bed, cover her, then leave as quickly as he had entered.

He set her down as gently as he could and reached for the covers to wrap them around her, to save her from the evening's chill. To his surprise, a small hand touched his wrist, sending a peculiar spark of something that wasn't magic through him. He tilted his head to see blue eyes - misty with sleep - gazing at him through thick lashes.

"Your coat is spiky," she murmured. "I don't like it."

He barely had time to register the words when her fingers slipped from his wrist and she rolled over, curling into an impossibly small ball under the blankets. The snoring started up again, muffled by the warm fabric.

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her blankly and touched the point on his wrist where her fingers had touched.

Women made no sense at all.


	4. Renewing

The days were crawling by.

Belle was growing more and more frustrated. She had tried departing once a day, each day, for the past week and a half. The result was always exactly the same. It was annoying, but that wasn't what was frustrating her.

The frustrating thing was that he was dealing with the problem by trying to pretend it wasn't there. He acted exactly as he always did: eat, drink, go out - lucky son of a she-dog - make deals, come home, spin. It was as if nothing had changed, as if she had not bared her heart and soul, as if he had not accused her of being a liar and a traitor.

Sometimes, she wondered if throttling him would be considered a crime.

The thing that really restoked the fires of her temper every day, however, was the fact that he wouldn't speak to her. It was like they were starting all over again. He glanced at her from time to time, as if he wanted to say something, then hid his face in his spinning or in a book or just anywhere that didn't mean speaking to her.

For a grown man, he was acting more and more like a shy toddler.

Once, it might have seemed endearing, but now, when she felt like she was going mad in the silence, she wished he would say something, even if it was to boss her around again.

On principle, she refused to clean up after him, which meant that his alchemical experiments were leaving sooty stains everywhere. She stopped preparing his meals or dealing with his clothing. She even would have avoided the main room, if it hadn't been the room with the best chairs for curling up with a book.

The library was taking up most of her time when she wasn't reading. The shelves were a complete disaster, so she appointed herself the task of reorganising the place, no matter how long it took.

Still, when evening came, she would stride into the grand room, pull his favourite chair over to the fireplace and sit down in it, emphatically not paying the least little bit of attention to him. He was the one who was behaving like a child, so let him be the one to make the move back towards adult behaviour.

All the same, she couldn't help but notice that each day, he looked a little more bedraggled.

His ugly, spiked, leathery coat was gone again, for which she was grateful, though she couldn't imagine why he'd decided to hang it up again after just one day. His silk shirts, however, were looking sorrier with each passing day. The sleeves were limp, and even the collars seemed to be drooping.

On the twelfth day, she finally set her book down on the chair and stood up.

"Did you never learn to wash your own clothes?" she demanded, walking over to him and giving his sleeve a tug. "Look at the state of you! Anyone would think you had never seen cloth before."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed and clearly terrified of saying something wrong. "I never had anything silk… before," he said, stilling the wheel with his fingertips.

Belle sighed and tugged at the shoulder of his waistcoat. "Off with it all then," she said. "Go and change and get me all the things that need to be cleaned. You can make the dinner tonight." She plucked at his sleeve again. "I think I may be too busy."

A small, hopeful smile flitted across his lips and he scrambled upright. "I have some trousers…"

"Don't try your luck," she warned, but she had to bite down hard to hide a smile.

He half-skipped, half-ran towards the door, more animated than she had seen him in nearly a fortnight.

She shook her head and returned to her book to wait for his laundry. He might be a silly man, but then, they usually were, and at least this one knew when he had done something wrong, even if his response was to ignore it.

Some two hours and a freshly-cleaned pile of clothing later, she returned to the room for their first dinner together since that unfortunate day. Before that, they regularly sat and talked over a mostly-edible meal, sometimes about deals he was working on, sometimes about a book she was reading.

Rumpelstiltskin was standing beside the table, only a little stiffly, and he offered her a courteous bow. "My lady," he said, drawing a chair back for her to sit down.

My lady.

If only that were true, he could be a man again, and they could both be free.

Her expression showed too much, and she saw him lick his bottom lip nervously, as if expecting a reprimand. The poor, scared little man. No wonder he didn't believe her, when she told him she cared. How much had he been beaten down to believe he was truly worth nothing to anyone?

She smiled quickly, taking the seat. "Thank you," she said, arranging her skirts around her legs.

The relief that crossed his features was touching, and he uncovered her plate before taking his own seat. "I hope you like it," he said. "It's something I used to make a long time ago." He hesitated, then added quietly, "It was my son's favourite."

She looked up at him in surprise. She knew so little about him, and he was so careful to keep everything hidden. To be vulnerable, to be weak, terrified him. His reaction to her kiss, his passion and his obvious fear had made that clear. For it to be known that he had a human heart and a human soul could be fatal. A vulnerability of any kind would leave him open to enemies.

To that woman, on the road. The Queen.

And yet, he offered his son, that secret of his past again.

She smiled at him. "I'm sure it'll be wonderful," she said, motioning for him to pull his chair in and make himself more comfortable. He did so carefully, folding his hands one over the other on the table. "You never did tell me, you know."

He turned his plate, then folded his hands again. "Tell you what, dearie?"

She gazed at him. "About your son," she said.

He looked at his hands, then lifted his head to look at her. "No," he agreed quietly. "I didn't." His lips twitched, almost a brief, sad smile. "Not yet."

Not yet.

It wasn't much, she thought, as she tucked into her food. Two words. But it was so much more than an epic poem of grovelling and apology. And if he was willing to tell her, she was willing to wait.


	5. Storytelling

Notes: Just a quick FYI - reviewing just to say "Update soon" is slightly moot, since I said at the beginning of the story I would be updating daily ;) Asking me to do so won't make me do it any quicker.

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Days drifted by, one by one. It didn't take long for her to stop testing the boundaries, and he was both delighted that she would not be going, and saddened that she was forced to stay by a power he couldn't understand. She, on the other hand, seemed to be content. He wished he could be.

The evenings were cool, and now that a form of peace had been reached, it didn't feel so much like torture to spend time together at the fireplace.

Belle still buried her nose in a book from time to time, while he occupied himself with spinning. Still, when his straw ran out, or her words were spent, they often found they both glanced at one another at once, wordlessly seeking company.

"You know you're sitting in my chair?" Rumpelstiltskin inquired, leaning on the back and looking down at her one such evening.

"Mm." Belle placed a ribbon as a marker in her book and looked up at him. There was a touch of mischief around her eyes. "It's very comfortable. I can see why you like it."

"I would quite like it back, dearie."

She smiled. "I'm sure you would." She reached down behind her and pulled out the cushion she had been leaning against, depositing in front of her chair. "But I'm using it for now, so you can sit there."

He looked at her, then at the cushion on the floor in front of her. She had an amused, half-challenging expression on her face, her eyebrows raised, as if she didn't believe he would humble himself to sit at her feet. "There?"

She shrugged. "I'll make a deal," she said, and he stared at her. She laughed out loud. "Oh, shut your mouth, Rumpelstiltskin. You look like a codfish. You're not the only one around here who can make deals."

He almost laughed, self-consciously. "A deal, then?" He crouched down beside the chair, his fingers curling over the arm. She didn't shy away from him. Never afraid of him, this pretty, brave creature. "And what, pray, is your deal?"

She leaned closer to him, and he almost pulled back. Her face so close to his, as it was that night, the night he almost lost his power and maybe, possibly, might have had the love of the woman in front of him. He forced himself not to move, even though he could feel her warmth in the air.

"You tell me a story," she whispered impishly, her eyes dancing. "Something good enough to make it worth my while getting out of my chair."

"Your chair, indeed?"

Her smile lit his world up for a moment. "Well, my bottom is currently on it. By the rules of chair-ownership, whosoever sits upon a chair has a claim to it."

He frowned at her. "That's not a law I know of."

She laughed. He always took pleasure in her laughter. It was strange the way her face creased and folded into a wonderful new arrangement, and her eyes shone as bright as fireflies.

"Of course not," she said. "Papa and I made it up." She tugged on a strand of his hair, which made him stare at her all the more. "Do we have a deal?"

"A story?"

She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Any story?"

"Anything you like," she said. "It just has to be something special because I know a lot of good stories."

For a long time, he gazed at her, then he pivoted on his foot and swung around in front of the chair, to perch on the cushion. He folded his legs, crossing the ankles, and wrapped his arms around his bony knees.

She shifted on the chair behind him, propping her elbow on the padded arm.

"Something special," he murmured, looking into the fire.

If she said anything, or did anything, he didn't notice. He was lost in recollections, seeking a story worthy of her.

He knew at once what he wanted to tell her, but the thought of it made his chest ache, ancient scars still raw. He rocked on the cushion, gazing into the flames, and spoke in a voice little over a whisper.

He told the tale of a man who went to war to defend his home, his wife, his newborn child. The man wasn't a special man, or a clever man, but he wanted to protect what he loved. He wasn't a brave man. He saw horrible, terrible things, and he fled from them, knowing that if he didn't, he would never see his wife, or that precious little child again.

The wife, she left. No one loves a coward, after all. But, he said, the son, he grew and was strong and brave and everything his poor, frightened father wasn't. They wanted him for war. A little boy, too young to understand that death was waiting.

That foolish, reckless man would have done anything for his son. He did. He tried. He was twisted around in the wind by a creature more powerful and malicious than he could understand, and he became strong, powerful in turn. He could have crushed anyone who wanted to take his son. But the child could no longer see his father in the powerful and dangerous man.

Rumpelstiltskin's voice faded to nothing.

"And," Belle said softly, "he lost him."

Rumpelstiltskin barely moved. The tiny nod might have been a flicker of the flames on his face. "Lost him."

A small hand was laid on his shoulder, and squeezed gently.

He drew a breath, forced a shrill giggle. "A good story?"

"A sad story," she replied. She slipped out of the chair. "We had a deal."

He looked up at her, and tried to smile, but it felt like it dropped from his face as soon as it touched his lips. "Keep it, dearie," he said. "It fits you better than me."

She gazed at him for a moment, then sat down on the cushion beside him. He frowned at her, uncertain. "I'm cold," she said, lifting his arm and pulling it around her shoulders as if he were some kind of living shawl.

His hand froze, fingers rigid above the bare skin of her arm, and she made matters worse by nestling against his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Belle?" he said uncertainly. "Wouldn't a blanket be better?"

She patted his chest. "Quieter, certainly," she said, tucking her head against his shoulder.

He looked down, the dark wisps of her hair tickling under his chin and against his neck. She gave a great sigh, then reached up and gently pressed his hand down to rest against her arm.

"I'm not made of glass," she said. "You won't break me by touching me."

His fingers were trembling treacherously, and he licked his lips. This was not what he had foreseen when he tried to reclaim his chair.

She prodded the middle of his chest. "A little less frozen-in-terror if you please. Some of us would like to relax and enjoy the fire."

He gave a nervous giggle. "Easier said than done, dearie."

She lifted her head to look at him in amusement. "Silly darling," she said, then snuggled back down.

He blinked at the fire, too astonished to even be scared, all the breath in his body escaping in a rush, leaving him limp between the girl and the chair.

"There," Belle said with smug and sleepy triumph. "Better."


	6. Reading

Belle closed her bedroom door, and only then did she release a breath she felt like she had been holding for the whole evening.

She felt as if she had run a thousand miles, utterly exhausted by the whirling emotions and the truth that had finally been revealed. He trusted her enough to tell her his tale, and what a tale. No wonder, no wonder at all, that he believed she would hate and fear him, just as everyone had before.

Her love for him was tried and condemned against every other experience he had known.

That was why he told her to go. That was why he looked so devastated - even though he tried not to - when she did actually walk away. All of his beliefs about people caring, staying, loving him, were being confirmed.

She wondered if, unconsciously, that was what was binding her here: his desire to simply have someone stay.

At least, she mused, he didn't push her away when she sat with him. Once he got past the rigid panic, he almost seemed to enjoy her being there. His fingertips had even moved, albeit haltingly, in a circle on her upper arm, while she pretended to doze against his chest.

She crossed the room to sit down on the edge of her bed.

It was one thing to kiss him to try and break the curse, to set him free, but this was something completely new and different. Before, he had spoken with her and they had almost been something almost like friends, but now, she knew that he hadn't really trusted her. Things were changing. A simple story was the cause.

He was changing, and she knew she was too.

She curled up on the bed, lost in thought. The story, his story, was filling her head, and she wondered about the dark magical creature that twisted him, a scared father desperate to save his child, into the lonely creature he was now.

Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow, she would go to the library and start to learn about just how cruel magic could be.

It was easier said than done, unfortunately.

The library had hundreds of books, maybe thousands, and even though she had made some headway in putting them into some kind of order, she knew it would take much, much longer to find ones that might be relevant to her.

She was a patient woman. Well, sometimes, she could be a patient woman, if she really concentrated on it and tried to resist the urge to read the much more interesting books on the top shelves, which suggested a thousand and one ways men and women really didn't actually _need_ to kiss.

She wondered just how much Rumpelstiltksin would quiver in panic if she gave into the peculiar impulse she'd been fighting the night before to nuzzle his neck.

No.

She had to be practical and find out all about the magic first, because that would be useful in actually helping him. And if she didn't find anything useful, then and only then would she return her attention to those very educational books. Some of them had etchings.

No. No. That had to wait.

Magic. She had to study magic and understand the hold it had on him.

This kind of study, she kept to the library.

It wasn't that she was being secretive about it, but she knew he would probably take it as a sign she was looking for yet another way out of the castle, and that would lead to his face tripping him for days. The silly man didn't realise she had no intentions of leaving, not until she could take him with her, whole and happy.

She had little knowledge or experience of magic, personally.

Her town was too small to have any sorcerers based there, especially when true magicians could charge an arm and a leg for the most basic of defensive spells. She always wondered how they found magic, or how magic found them.

There were stories, of course.

The oldest tales were about children with a gift for knowing, seeing and being bound with magic from the earliest of ages, but those people were few and far between. Like Rumpelstiltskin, many magicians had found or claimed the power as they grew older, bending it to their will and using it to do what they wanted.

From what she could understand, the magic was as much a part of their world as the air and the sun, accessible, if you knew how to reach it, but it took a strong will and determination to control it and make it do what you wanted.

Desperation, she supposed, was a kind of determination.

She kept notes, writing everything neatly into a pretty little book, which she kept in her room. They had silently agreed that her room was sacrosanct, somewhere that he would not go, and that was where she kept everything that he didn't need to see quite yet: Her diary, a couple of the more interesting books from the library, one of his shirts that was much more comfortable to sleep in than her oversized nightdress.

On the whole, it was better that he wasn't allowed into her room.

She wasn't going to risk his wrath by trying to undo his curse again, if it even was a curse, but she wasn't going to give up her investigation until she understood whether he was using the magic. Or whether the magic was using him.

And she certainly wasn't going to let him find out that when she said that his dark red shirt was ruined in the laundry, it actually meant it was tucked under her pillow.

Magic-study or stolen clothing.

She wasn't quite sure which was more illicit.

Both felt quietly rebellious.

Sometimes, both at the same time.

On those occasions, she made sure that the door was well and truly locked.


	7. Unbalancing

Rumpelstiltskin returned to the castle in a foul temper.

The Queen was clawing at his borders again, and the latest deal he had hoped for had fallen apart. The ruby slippers, once so valued by the lady of the East, were rejected by her sister, the Lady of the West, in favour of a bloody vengeance on the child who stole them to begin with. His price, accordingly, changed and she turned her nose up at it.

The petty rivalries were exhausting, and some deals were beneath contempt.

While he was willing to intercede in battles if need be, to turn the tide and offer some manner of victory, he had not killed once, not since Baelfire turned away from him. His blade, his curse, was locked away, hidden from the world. It was still sharp, still ready for blood, he knew, but for the memory of his child, of the man he once was, he had promised no more killing.

To add insult upon injury, the storm sweeping over the land was merciless. Thick sheets of bitingly cold rain lashed him. The chill meant nothing to him. Immortality had few blessings, but one of them was no illness, even when soaked to the skin on the iciest night in months.

He might have used magic to travel, but as he always said, all magic comes with a cost. Twisting the fabric of the world for a little comfort and warmth was folly, when the price could be so much more than any man could pay. At the very most, he would use it to hide himself, but whether that was purely the magic or something of himself, he could not decide.

By the time he slammed through the doors of the castle, there was not a part of him that was dry or in any way pleased.

"You look like something the wyvern dragged in." The voice drifted from a small window nook, just beside the door. Belle leaned out with a smile, then approached him, bearing a thick, warm blanket. "I thought you might need this."

His fury abated somewhat, the raging anger that had tightened around him like armour loosening and falling away. "Very generous, dearie," he murmured, reaching out for it.

"Not at all," she replied, holding the blanket close against her chest. Her eyes were dancing with a mischief that made him more than a little suspicious. "I just washed the floor in here this morning, and if you think I'm going to let you trail mud and puddles all through the castle, you have another thing coming."

He risked a glance down at himself, his drenched clothes that were already leaving a spreading pool on the floor, his mud-thick boots, then back at the girl, who was looking more and more pleased with herself and less and less innocent with each passing moment.

Belle gave the blanket a little shake. "Off with it all," she said. "Now. You're not going anywhere in those things."

He was quite sure he said something along the lines of refusal, but when the sounds reached his ears, it sounded more like a stammered splutter. His cheeks felt suddenly very warm, and his head very light.

Belle's cheeks were looking unusually pink, but she raised her eyebrows in wordless challenge. Her lips were twitching.

"Belle…" he cajoled.

"Housekeeper rules," she declared, smiling brilliantly.

He put his head to one side. "How do you propose to stop me? It's my castle?"

For a moment, her lower lip jutted out. "You don't want to upset me?" she asked in a small voice.

Rumpelstiltskin was at a loss for words, not helped by the fact that the lady of the castle promptly burst into that merry laughter of hers. He scowled. So she wanted to tease, did she? Very well!

His coat hit the floor, splattering the puddle everywhere, and suddenly, she wasn't laughing anymore.

He fixed his eyes on her face, watching the colour rising in her cheeks, the way she bit her bottom lip, the way her breath caught, as his waistcoat followed. His fingers fumbled for only a moment with his shirt, before it too landed in a heap on the floor.

He didn't know who was breathing harder, the only sound the ragged in and out of their breaths. Her hands were white, clenched around the blanket, and she was staring at him as if she could barely believe he was daring to meet her challenge. His own head was spinning, and he reached for his belt.

She moved closer, and he could see her heart racing, in her throat, at her breast.

The blanket unfurled in her hands, and she stepped close to him, so close he could feel the brush of the fabric of her dress against his chest. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked in a breathless whisper, as she swept the blanket around his shoulders.

His hands moved of his own accord, shaping her waist, holding her there for just a moment, just a breath, just enough to convince himself it wasn't some illusion. His hands weren't the only ones to move. Her eyes never left his as she loosened his belt, drawing it free, then touched his waist.

Her skin was scorching, even the lightest of touches of her fingertips.

"Belle…"

She rose on her toes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she might kiss him, and he knew that if she did, he wouldn't have the resolve or the willpower to push her back.

"I'll see you by the fire," she whispered, her lips so close to his ear that he could feel every word. She breathed in softly, as if inhaling the scent of him, then out, and he was shaking so hard that he was sure she could hear his knees knocking together.

And just like that, she yanked his trousers down to drop in a heap around his ankles, then turned and strolled off, as if she hadn't just taken his whole world, shaken it until it rattled and kicked it across the universe.


	8. Teasing

Belle's door was locked.

She was sitting with her back against it, her hands pressed over her mouth, and she was shaking with silent, helpless giggles. She wasn't sure whether it was because he'd done it, or because she had, or because they were both blushing like schoolchildren all the while. The look on his face!

Then, of course, came the recollection of the feeling of his skin under her palms.

Whether it was the rain and the cold night that had left him cool to the touch, or whether he was naturally so, she didn't know. Not yet, anyway. His skin wasn't smooth, but it wasn't as coarse as she had imagined, more like the delicate scales of a lizard's hide than anything.

He had been naked, right there before her, only a blanket for his dignity.

She was not an innocent as he probably liked to imagine. She was a curious child, almost from the moment she could walk, and naturally, curiosity had led to wide-spread explorations of her father's castle and outbuildings, and down to the river's edge, where people often swam in the water. If she was there early enough in the morning, she always got an educational view from her hiding place, as the boys ran into the clear waters.

Once, she had seen Gaston, all broad shoulders, muscled legs and narrow hips. He was the prize-specimen of the village, everyone agreed. Handsome as could be in all the right ways, but unfortunately, he was also dull as a rock and twice as charming.

Rumpelstiltskin, by comparison, was small and thin, but not unpleasantly so. There was a leanness about him, like a coiled spring, compact energy. She knew how he moved, how he carried himself, and it suited him. No great strides for her wicked little imp, but he was quick and deft, and…

She felt her cheeks going pink again at the thought of how that deftness might best be put to good use.

The desire to touch him had only been growing after that night by the fire.

It was the first time he had shown that he might not be so adverse to human contact as he had previously indicated. She knew that she loved him, him and his silly ways, his habits, his careful courtesy, even that little laugh. Even if he wasn't a man again, she would still love him, and that knowledge was making the thought of being close to him even more intriguing.

With effort, she got up and straightened her skirt.

She said she would be by the fire, and so, she would be. She might be blushing again, but that was not the point of the matter.

She hurried down to the kitchen, fetching some of the stew which had been bubbling for hours. It might not be much, but it was warm, and it meant that her hands were full so she couldn't cover her face to hide her blushes when she entered the room.

To her surprise, he wasn't at his wheel, but some tangled and lumpy knots of half-turned straw suggested that his hands weren't steady enough. She glanced around, and almost signed with relief at the sight of his - oh thank goodness, fully-clothed - legs emerging from the chair by the fire.

"Dinner!" she said, her voice sounding more shrill than bright. She set the tray down on the table. "I thought you'd like something warm."

"Yes." His voice was low, unusually so. "The hall was rather… chilly, dearie."

Belle couldn't help the giggle that escaped her, and the damned blush was back, rising steadily. She approached the chair, peeking around the wing so he could only see her eyes. "I gave you a blanket."

He was gazing at the fire, his fingertips steepled before him, and he slanted a glance towards her. "Yes. You did."

She stepped sideways, from behind the wing, resting her forearm on it, her thighs resting against the arm of the chair. "And you're clean and dry," she said, as he tilted his head back to look up at her, the fire casting odd, dancing shadows over his face.

"I'm still cold."

Belle stared at him, and he moved his head just slightly to one side, half his face in darkness, half in light. He might have been smiling, she could see a glimpse of his teeth, and his eyebrows rose.

So that was to be the way of it? Well, anything he could do, she could do.

She gathered up her skirts, and without hesitation, deposited herself into his lap, settling against him. She felt rather than heard the sharp, in-drawn breath. "Complain, complain, complain," she said, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. "That's all you do these days."

"Yes," he said. She couldn't help noticing the catch in his voice. One arm settled across her waist, cautiously, as if he expected it to be pushed away. "It's the staff. They're impossible."

She poked him in the ribs. "Hey!"

"And violent," he added, his eyes searching her face.

She avoided them, shrugging with a small smile. "Sometimes, we all need a good poke," she said.

He made a small, strangled sound and her mind caught up with her mouth a moment later. With the directions her brain had been going in for days, she could quite imagine what he was thinking. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, and he stared back. His cheeks were an interesting brownish-gold. So that's what a real blush looked like on him? Interesting.

"Dinner?" she said, ignoring the squeak in her voice.

He nodded, swallowing hard, his hand moving from her waist. It just was unfortunate that he chose to slide it across the front of her stomach, so she felt every inch that he touched.

Damn it all, she thought, and nuzzled under his ear before getting up.

By the time he finally bothered to get out the chair and join her at the table, her blush was almost gone. Almost.


	9. Tempting

Rumpelstiltskin was in a quandary.

There was a beautiful, amusing, delightful young woman, trapped in his halls with him, and either she was trying to drive him mad or she was trying to lure him into her bed. Or both. He wasn't quite sure.

He couldn't avoid her. That would have been unfair on her, to leave her completely alone. He couldn't just sit and spin while she was there, either. Especially not after she came to see what he was doing, and her breath was so warm on the curve of his ear that he dropped the spindle.

It had to be deliberate.

When she nestled against him in front of the fire, after he told her the truth of his life, he had assumed it was simply comfort for a tragic tale. It seemed this was not the case. With every passing day, it was becoming more apparent that she enjoyed his touch, and wasn't about to stop touching him either.

It was… distracting.

Of course, given the chance, he would have swept her up in his arms in an instant, but it came back to the kiss. With the Queen's threat still present, he couldn't risk losing all that he had, just for one night of gratification. Or several nights. Or maybe a week or so.

Belle didn't seem to notice his concerns, or the fact her touch left him shivering as if he had a fever.

Whenever she passed him, her hand would fleetingly brush his arm. Sometimes, she would curl up beside him at the wheel and lean against him. The final straw came when he was reading in his - occasionally her - chair and she perched on the arm, facing him.

He tried his best to ignore her, but the words on the page looked like they were dancing. They started spinning even more when she reached down and tugged at his buttons.

"Disgraceful," she murmured. "Didn't you think to ask me to fix them?"

"They're quite all right," Rumpelstiltskin replied, stalwartly staring at the book.

"This is all right?" Her fingers tugged lightly and the thread holding the button in place snapped. "Oh! Sorry! I'm sorry!"

He felt the button drop inside the shirt, and opened his mouth to say something, but her small, nimble hand was inside the shirt first, chasing the errant button across his skin. Her fingers curled, and her nails caught, and the sensation raking across his ribs made him gasp.

He caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Belle," he whispered hoarsely. "Leave the damned button."

She bit her lip and nodded, and as soon as he freed her wrist, she rose. He knew he probably had succeeded in upsetting her again, but with the heat growing in the pit of his belly, the last thing he needed for her to be was there to see it.

It was that moment which drove him back to the library, seeking arcane knowledge of the power of the so-called True Love's Kiss. After all, it was always the kiss that broke the spell, in every tale ever told. No one said anything about True Love's Fondle or True Love's Tumble in the Hay.

Thankfully, his little housekeeper arranged the library, and the magic books were all clustered together. He tore through them like fire through dry brushland, searching for anything that might tell him just how much he and the little vixen could do before his powers were sapped.

He was only halfway through the mountain of books when the doors of the library opened, letting a glimmer of moonlight slice across the floor. Was it so late already that the moon was so high?

"You won't find any answers in there," Belle said quietly.

He tried not to look, tried to keep his eyes on the words. "I have to look."

"I already have," she said and he looked up, startled. Then down, then back up, and swallowed hard.

"Is… is that my shirt?"

She looked down the red silk shirt, his favourite, which she was wearing. Damaged in the laundry, she said. She didn't mention that it was now hers. And only covering her to mid-thigh. And buttoned low on her chest. One hand toyed with one of the buttons, and her eyes met his.

"It's on me," she said, her voice a little breathless, nervous. "Mine now."

"Belle," he warned in a growl.

She approached on bare feet, the shirt whispering, and the moonlight made her slim legs glow like magic. "I don't want to break the curse, not unless you want me to," she said quietly. "But I do want something from you."

He was drawing ragged breaths, his fingers curled around the arms of the chair, his eyes fixed on her face. Her hair was loose, and her eyes were darker than usual, and her lips paler, and his nails were carving into the wood of the chair.

She was level with him, and she pushed aside the books, letting them fall to the floor. Both small hands braced on either side of her, then she pushed herself up to sit on the table, the shirt riding up those pale, pale thighs. She lifted one leg and laid her toes delicately beside his hand on the arm of the chair.

"Don't," he whispered, wanting nothing more than to start on that foot and work up, tease her as much as she had been teasing him for days on end.

"Too late for that," she whispered. There was a flush in her cheeks as she moved her toes just enough to brush his hand. His fingers leapt, catching her ankle, and she shivered as he dragged his palm up her calf.

"If it breaks," he warned, his voice quivering as much as her calf, "if I start to change…"

"You stop," she finished, then giggled breathlessly as his nails skimmed the back of her knee, dragging back down.

He stood so sharply that the chair crashed over, the echo rebounding in the silence, but his eyes were on her alone. He caught her thighs, stepping between them, dragging her closer to the edge of the table, closer to him, and she sprawled back.

"No risk of kissing," she said, her voice still trembling.

He gazed at her, in the blood-red shirt, thighs about him, her hair spreading like a shadow across books and parchment. He realised in that heartbeat that he had never wanted anyone so much in his life.

It was never going to be True Love's Kiss, but when he lowered his head and kissed the perfect curve of her throat, and she trembled beneath him, it almost felt like it.


	10. Touching

It was dark and still when Belle woke.

She was lying on something soft, which didn't add up with her last memories of the evening before. There was a scent in the air that was unfamiliar too, not the scent of ink and books, but something more earthy, something that reminded her of him.

It was too dark to be her room.

Her heart jolted and she started to sit up, until she felt the arm around her waist. It moved, loosened, giving her leave to escape if she so wished.

"Oh," she whispered, smiling into the darkness. He was still there, now that she was paying attention, she could feel his body curved against hers, fitting together like a book and its cover. She covered Rumpelstiltskin's hand with hers, drawing it back to rest over her heart, nestled beneath her breast.

The breath he had been holding ruffled her hair, but he didn't speak. His fingertips moved in a gentle, lazy caress, and his lips pressed to her bare shoulder, first kissing, then, with caution, adding a gentle nip of the teeth.

Belle shivered pleasantly. So it hadn't all been a rather fevered dream? Well, that was good. And his skin still felt as it always did, so he still had his power, so that was good as well. It certainly meant less risk of another temper tantrum.

She ran her fingertips along his forearm, then back to his hand, threading her fingers between his. He curled his fingers to hold her hand, and she felt the small, content smile against her throat.

"Where are we?" she murmured, moving one leg slightly, which in turn made his legs shift against her, tangling pleasantly until it felt like every inch of them was touching from head to toe.

"My room," he whispered.

She gazed into the dark shapelessness with lazy pleasure. The one place that she was never permitted, his personal haven, his hiding place. She pressed back against him, felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back. He had been letting her in, little by little, and now, she was seeing into the heart of him.

"Mine now?" she breathed.

He trembled, and she smiled in delight. "Belle…"

She drew his hand up and kissed his fingertips, then caught one between her teeth, nipping then licking. He made a low, hungry sound. "Rules," she whispered. "Who so-ever has love made to them in a bed has the right to claim it."

"You forget, dearie," he whispered, running his fingertip along her lower lip. "We didn't reach the bed." His hips shifted against hers, and his thigh slipped upwards, between hers, the coarseness of his skin causing the most delightful sensations. "The rules don't apply."

"Technicality," she gasped out, arching.

He caressed her lower lip again, teasingly, and his fingertip pressed gently, invading, just as he rolled his hips. "But you now own the library," he whispered, then drew a breath when she dragged her tongue over the tip of his finger.

Her hand tugged his down playfully. "I want the bed," she whispered, rolling her hips back against his. "Our bed."

The words made him tremble again, and she pressed his hand over her heart.

"Ours?" he asked in a whisper, his lips close to her ear.

She laughed, breathless and husky, and twisted in his embrace to look him in the eyes. "You're mine, Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed, lifting her hand to caress his cheek. "Every part of you. My true love, my frustrating employer, my best friend. Why shouldn't you be my bed companion too?"

For the longest of moments, he stared at her, the gleam of his eyes in the darkness of the room the only thing she could see.

Then he touched his fingertips to her lips and kissed the back of them.

Belle knew her smile was verging on the idiotic.

It wasn't true love's kiss, and probably never would be, but it was true love.


	11. Being

Rumpelstiltskin was happy.

It was a strange, new and terrifying experience.

His whole mortal life had been a depressing mess of fear and chaos, with those he loved abandoning him when he proved himself afraid. Gaining power hadn't changed a thing. It only took away one of the few things he had left, and he was completely alone, despised now as a monster by those who had never heard of Rumpelstiltskin the coward.

And then, there was Belle.

She claimed the left side of the bed, which he had no notion to protest. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in a bed with someone, and was too distracted by the warm, soft, wicked creature in his arms to think about which side was better.

There could be no denying that she was wicked, but only in the very best ways.

More often than not, when he returned from checking the castle's defensive charms in the evening, he found her reading in bed, and sometimes, she would look over the top of the book with that particular gleam in her eye. On those occasions, he didn't need to be told what she was reading, or what she had in mind for the evening ahead.

He still left the castle to make deals, to seek defences, to find new and better powers, because he knew the Queen was only growing stronger. She was far more ruthless than he, and now, he had something that needed protection.

Sometimes, though not on purpose, he would be so late that she would already be halfway to sleep. She was charming then, drowsy and full of complaints and reproof about his absence, his waking her or anything that might come to mind.

Rumpelstiltskin crept into the grand bed. It had always been too big for him alone, but even now, it was still too big for both of them. It took him a moment to find her in the dark, under the expanse of blankets and sheets.

"Your feet are cold," Belle murmured sleepily.

"My feet are always cold, dearie," he murmured, as she rolled over to curl against him, one arm wrapping around his waist, and a leg doing the same about his leg.

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Good deals?" she asked, as he drew the blankets around them. He knew she didn't like the deals any better than he did, but when they were all he could use to defend himself, his territory and her, they were a necessary evil.

"Nothing terrible," he murmured. "The fairies are being difficult again."

She sighed softly. "Was it bad?"

He curled his fingers into her soft, dark hair. "No casualties," he promised quietly. "I try, Belle. I don't want to be seen as a monster anymore."

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. "You're not a monster," she whispered, her hand over his heart. "You never were."

"I was," he demurred quietly. "I know I was."

In the darkness, he could make out the shape of her, silhouetted as she leaned up to seek out his face. "Don't talk like that," she said, her voice losing the soft edge of sleep. "We both know magic isn't like that. Magic is there, and it's what you do with it that makes it bad or good."

He laughed quietly, almost sadly. "Then I suppose that makes me a bad man, then."

She rapped him sharply on the chest. "A bad man?" She rolled away from him for a moment, and lit the candle that stood by the bed. By the buttery light, she glowed gold, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. "You are _not_ a bad man, Rumpelstiltskin. A sad man, yes. A scared man, yes. A desperate man, yes. But you were never, ever bad."

"You don't know what I've done, before I knew you, dearie," he murmured, gazing at her.

"Who summoned you, oh mighty Rumpelstiltskin?" she said, kneeling up among the tangled sheets. She was glorious in her indignation. "Who had heard all of the tales of the things you accomplished? Who knew that you always had a price? Who counted on your reputation to know you would be able to save our town?"

"Who made you pay for it with servitude?" he countered.

She stared at him, then grabbed a pillow and smacked him over the head with it, catching him by surprise.

"You are stubborn as a mule!" she exclaimed, pummelling him. He swore, shielding his head with both arms, and reached blindly for her, trying to wrestle the pillow from her grasp. "You stupid, stupid man!"

"Belle," he growled, both of them tangling in the bedding, until he finally managed to toss the pillow aside, and pin her - still squirming - down. She grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged on it, her face creasing up in a glare.

"You're just determined to disagree with everything I say," she said indignantly.

"No, I'm not," he said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Her lips twitched and she tugged on his hair again, more gently. His own lips turned up, just a little.

She slid her hand over his shoulder and drew his head to rest on her chest. "You're the most stubborn idiot I ever met," she murmured, dragging her fingers through his hair. "Do you think I would care about you as much as I do, if you were as unpleasant as you think you are?"

He tilted his head to nuzzle her collarbone. "Well, you are a strange one, dearie."

She pinched his ear vengefully. "You're one to talk."

He smiled against her chest. "Put the candle out," he murmured. "It's late."

She stroked his hair again. "I'd have to move," she murmured.

He considered that option. "Let it burn out."


	12. Crossing

Notes: This chapter and the next one are among my most favouritest things I've written for Rumbelle. Really, I have never bounced with so much glee while writing.

* * *

Belle knew every inch of the castle.

It wasn't just because she had cleaned every inch, which had helped. She also explored, especially now that there were no rooms that were off-limits to her. The room she now shared with Rumpelstiltskin had been a surprise when she first saw it by daylight.

For some reason, she always pictured dark drapes, flickering lanterns, mysterious bottles with gory contents on ominous shelves, and all the things that anyone who knew of him only by reputation.

Instead, he had a simple bed with a wooden chest on either side. The bed itself was plain, broad and thickly quilted. It wasn't even a four-poster, so there were no curtains to stave off the chill that descended in the night, but the blankets, eiderdowns and his arms were quite enough to keep her warm.

The grounds, on the other hand, were less familiar.

There was a maze, which she got lost in once, and spent almost six hours in because she was determined to find her way out on her own without calling for help. In the end, the pruning shears and some adventurous climbing got her out, though her dress never recovered. Rumpelstiltskin didn't say a word, but she had a feeling he watched the whole thing and probably enjoyed a good deal of entertainment at her expense.

Still, she was determined to get to know the place better, now that it was truly her home.

So what if she wasn't able to see the world? The estate was huge, and she was fairly sure there were probably at least two and a half other Kingdoms in it, if she ever got as far as the borders.

Each day when he set out to make his deals, Belle packed herself a basket, donned her cloak, then spun in a circle for ten seconds, and whichever direction she was facing when she stopped, she set out that way to see what lay ahead.

Three times in a row, she ended up back at the blasted maze on one particularly unfortunate day, and felt justified in taking another spin.

This time, she stumbled, as if something tugged on her ankle, knocking her off-balance, but when she opened her eyes, it was a new direction, and more importantly, it wasn't going to be another afternoon of hedge-trimming.

She set out at once.

Usually, she allowed herself to walk as far as her feet could bear, and once there, she would sit, take in the surroundings, enjoy them for a few hours, and then head back to the castle in time for a late meal.

The area was one she hadn't seen before, with rolling fields, and flowers. It felt almost childish to do it, but she gathered flowers as she went. They could be woven into a garland, once she got to the end of her walk.

It was beautiful, and she found herself wandering further and further. The smells of the grass and the trees, the birds singing, the rippling brook nearby. She wished that Rumpelstiltskin were there, so he could share it, even if he probably would wrinkle his nose and point out it was just a field.

"Milady?"

She spun around, startled, the first time she had heard a female voice since the woman on the road.

An old woman was standing on the opposite side of the brook. She was bent, her hair grey, and she was leaning heavily on a staff. There was a basket at her feet and she offered a crook-toothed smile. "Milady is a long way from anywhere."

"Oh. No," Belle said with a smile. "I'm close to home. Can I help you? Are you lost?"

The woman shook her head. "Just passing through, my dear," she said. "I'm a trader, you see. I sell pretty things to ladies who can't get to market themselves." She waved back in the direction of the trees. "I was walking in the forests when I saw you, and thought you might care to take a look."

Belle looked down at her own basket. "I don't have anything I could use to buy your wares," she said apologetically. "I hope you didn't come all the way here, only to have to walk all the way back to your path."

The old woman laughed, her dark eyes crinkling. "No, child," she said. "If you have a piece of food to spare, an apple, perhaps? I have no need of wealth or fortune. I only seek to bring beautiful things to beautiful women."

Belle bit her lip thoughtfully. It would be nice to have something new for her hair, or a new necklace. Something eye-catching and pretty. After all, there was only so much you could do with a single wardrobe of clothing.

"Wait there," she said, setting down her basket and slipping off her shoes. She pulled her skirts up above her knees and waded into the shallow brook. The water was wonderfully cool and she splashed across to the other side. She sat down on the bank with a smile. "There. Now, I can have a look."

"Yes, yes," the old woman said, crouching down. "Look, milady. Look at this lovely necklace." She held up a shimmering jewel on a fine chain, then a delicate comb, patterned with red roses. "Or perhaps a comb for your lovely hair?"

"Oh!" Belle said. "That's beautiful."

The old woman smiled brightly. "Let's try it, shall we?" she said, loosening Belle's hair and dragging her fingers through it. Something caught Belle's eye, something that wasn't quite right. The old woman's hands were slender, smooth, young,

Belle pulled away, but the old woman had her by the hair and jerked her back. "Who are you?" she cried, struggling, her hair tearing away at the root.

"Someone you shouldn't trifle with, girl," the old woman sneered, ramming the comb into Belle's hair until it tore through flesh and blood welled up. Belle cried out in pain, then shock as a chill seemed to spread out from the comb, flooding her body.

She drew a breath and screamed, "Rumpelstiltskin!"


	13. Losing

He would have heard her cry if she was on the other side of the Kingdoms.

The deal he was brokering forgotten, he let the winds catch him without a second thought, faster than light, carrying him to the place where her heart beat. No matter where she was, he could always find her.

The boundaries of his lands were in place, but it was close to the edge, and just on the very lip of it, his enemy, the Queen. She was wearing a ragged cloak, but beneath it, her jewelled dress gleamed, and she was examining her features in a mirror.

"You," he hissed, his hands curling, magic crackling around his fingertips.

She looked across the stream at him, as she neatened the bloody red of her lips. "My," she said. "Aren't you quick on your feet today." She smiled at him, bright and brilliant and cold as ice. "Running to find your little plaything?"

His lips pulled back from his teeth. "Where is she?" he snarled.

The Queen smirked, then glanced down at the stream.

He followed her gaze and cursed savagely. He lunged down into the water, falling onto his knees and pulling Belle from beneath the surface. Her face was white as bone, and she was cold and limp.

"Her dear daddy asked me to find her," the Queen said innocently. "He didn't specify that I had to bring her home alive. He was very helpful too. It's amazing how easy it was to find her, when I had some of her hair. A little summoning charm and she came right to me."

"You…" His fury crackled around him, searing the air, and he dragged Belle from the water onto his side of the stream. She was barely breathing, and her heartbeat was faint, fading. He tore off his coat, wrapping her in it, tucking her icy arms into the thick sleeves, as if it could warm her enough. His hand brushed her hair, catching on something there.

Trembling fingers found a comb, so thick with malevolent power that he hissed as if burned. He tore it from Belle's hair, hurling it away. It rattled on the rocks, bouncing out of sight.

"That's the trouble with pretty girls, Rumpel," the Queen said, patting her own hair into a neater arrangement. "They're all so vain."

"What have you done?" he whispered furiously, cradling Belle in his arms. The coldness was more than just the water, and he could see ripples of the dark magic crawling beneath her skin.

The Queen laughed. "Isn't it obvious?" she said. "Only you can save her."

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his head, staring at her blankly. He was breathing raggedly, in and out. Save her. She was cursed, then. The comb was cursed. Curses could only truly be broken by true love's kiss. But if he kissed her, saved her, then his power would be gone, and the Queen would slaughter them both where they lay.

"You witch," he whispered, his fingers trembling on Belle's cheek. "You vicious witch."

The Queen spread her hands, and mocked a curtsey. "Your girl isn't getting any less dead, _dearie_."

He bared his teeth, rocking Belle close to him. He could see the last of the colour leeching from her lips, from her cheeks. There was frost forming there, delicate crystals, sparkling like diamonds. She would become his ice-maid, frozen forever, dead and gone.

"Never thought I'd see the day, Rumpel," she interrupted the frantic whirl of his thoughts, sitting down on the opposite bank of the stream. "Love is weakness, you know. If only you hadn't locked her up with you. Forever, wasn't it? Such a nice, permanent word. No wonder she couldn't leave you, even if she wanted to. She must have been desperate to crawl into your arms."

He tried to ignore her, his mind racing, wild, frantic. It didn't matter what she was saying. It didn't. Not even if she might be right. None of that mattered, not how repulsive he was, not the deal he struck with Belle, nothing. There had to be some other way, something that would retain his power, but save Belle, before it was too late.

"Do you want a deal?" he asked, his voice ragged and hoarse.

"What could you possibly have that I want?" she sneered, her hands on her hips.

He looked at Belle, his fingertips ghosting across her lips, as if he could feel the breath escaping from them. Then he knew that he had the only thing that the Queen could want.

He looked up at her. "Me."

She burst out laughing, mockingly. "You? What woman in their right mind would want you?"

The woman in his arms was the answer, the woman who loved him, stayed with him, cared for him. He forced himself to smile, baring all of his teeth. "You know you want me, dearie." He rolled his head. "You know what you want. You want what I have and you could never get."

She stared across the stream at him, and he could see the moment she understood what he was offering. "Your power," she breathed.

He wrinkled his nose and grinned unpleasantly at her. "Better than wasting it in a kiss, wouldn't you say?"

Her lips were parted, and he could see the greed and hunger in her eyes. Oh, this was a dance he knew well. The desperate ones were always the easiest. "You'll give me your heart?"

"If you can take it, dearie," he murmured, "but don't be fooled. It's not an easy thing to hang on to." He rolled his head again and drew a breath between his teeth. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." The Queen's smile returned. "Now?"

"Her first," he said, unfurling one hand to gesture to Belle. "The curse. Break it."

The Queen's teeth flashed white in a grimace, but a series of gestures and a muttered incantation made the air spark and crackle. The dark power mottling Belle's skin faded, vanishing, and colour rushed back to her cheeks. She breathed in, and her eyelids fluttered softly, half-opening.

"Good," Rumpelstiltskin whispered, tracing her lips. "Time to wake up, Belle. Lots to do." He laid her down on the grass and unfolded onto his feet. "Now, dearie, we have business to be doing."

The Queen's eyes were shining. "Yes," she whispered. She curled a hand in a beckoning gesture. "Give me what's mine."

Rumpelstiltskin loosened the buttons of his waistcoat as he stepped down into the brook. "It's not yours yet, dear," he warned her. "Don't forget what I said. Take it if you can, but it's a dangerous thing."

The Queen leaned forward hungrily, stretching out her hand.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced back, just once, at Belle. She was alive and she was waking, and that was good enough for now. He stepped closer to the Queen and pulled open the stays of his shirt, baring his chest.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head.


	14. Standing

The splashing of the brook was deafening.

Belle could hear that more than anything else, though there were voices. She felt dizzy, shaken, but she wasn't freezing anymore, not as she had been. Her breathing was unsteady, and she forced her eyes open.

Rumpelstiltskin was there, stepping down into the water, and that woman, that vicious, ruthless woman was waiting. He was talking, quietly, so quietly that Belle couldn't hear, and he was pulling his waistcoat open.

Belle's eyes flew wide when the woman leaned forward and slammed her hand into Rumpelstiltskin's chest. He stumbled back a step, then another, until Belle could almost reach out and touch him. The woman followed, knee-deep in the stream, forcing him to his knees, her hand twisting downwards into his chest.

He gave a hoarse cry, and light blazed, making Belle's eyes burn with the brightness, and then he was falling, slumping down into the water, as if the life had been ripped from his body.

Belle stared down at him, motionless, unmoving, a ragged hole in his chest.

The woman, the Queen, was kneeling there, laughing in delight, and in her hands, something was pulsing, glowing, throbbing with life. It shone like a jewel, and Belle knew what it was, what it had to be, and it could never, never be taken away, not by her, not like that.

Belle's hand closed on one of the rocks that skirted the river. She rose onto her knees, then brought it down hard on the witch's head, and in the same moment, hurled herself into the water, to snatch the heart from the Queen's hand.

The Queen surged up from the water furiously. "You little tramp."

"That's mine, you evil sow," Belle snarled. "How dare you touch it." She clasped the heart close to her chest, pulsing and hot and alive. "He's mine. That means this is mine and no aging witch is taking him from me now."

She could feel something strange, like a thousand tiny little shocks of lightning running over her hands from the heart, and the heart's beat picked up pace, throbbing as fast as her own.

"Give it back," the Queen hissed. Her cloak was caught in the stream, tangling around her like a shadow.

"Not yours to have," Belle retorted. She felt the waves of dizziness receding, as if the heart was giving her strength, and she pressed it to her chest. Both she and the Queen gasped as it sank through her flesh, as if it were her own. Belle's eyes widened, and she looked at the Queen and smiled. "Mine."

The Queen bared her teeth like an animal and blasted a surge of power at her.

Belle knew she should have fallen then, struck down, but no. He was with her, in her, and she lifted her hands together and spread them wide. The blazing ball of flame split in two, dispersing into the air.

"Oh!" she whispered.

"Cute trick," the Queen sneered, whirling her arm, a lash of crackling energy coiling out like a whip, each tail a serpent's head.

Belle stepped in front of Rumpelstiltskin's prone body. "You're really going to try this?" she said. Rumpelstiltskin's coat was still wrapped around her, and it caught in the stream, rippling behind her like a dragon's tail.

The whip struck out, but Belle's hands moved instinctively, calling on the magic she could see and taste in the air, like tiny glowing dust motes caught in a sunbeam. She remembered. It was always there, and what you did, how you guided it, shaped how it responded to you. She thought of Rumpelstiltskin, of his smile, those little laughs, and the joy she felt at being so close to him. Icy walls leaping from the surface of the brook, shielding them from the lashes, shining and transparent as diamond.

She laid her hand against the surface and pushed through as if it was nothing more than a veil, approaching the Queen. The water around the Queen hardened, freezing, and the Queen swore, casting fire spells to free herself.

"You should leave," Belle said quietly. "You should leave, and you shouldn't come back. Rumpelstiltskin will always beat you, no matter what you do, and if there ever came a day when he couldn't, I would be there instead." She smiled sweetly. "And if you think that he's a mean-spirited bastard, you do not want to see me angry."

"I'm not afraid of him," the Queen spat, lashing out with a hand, which was deflected with the mildest of gestures "Or you, some uppity little Princess who fell for her own captor when she couldn't escape."

Belle laughed, lifting both hands and drawing the stream up around them like a barrier, closing them in. Water weeds snaked out, twisting and coiling up the Queen's legs, snaring her arms. The Queen may have protested otherwise, but Belle knew she saw her flinching away.

"That's where you're wrong," she said, stepping a little closer to the Queen. "I didn't fall for him. We fell for each other." She patted the Queen's cheek gently. "Now get the hell off our land."

She lowered her hands, and the world set itself to right. The stream was just a stream. The weeds were just limp shreds hanging from the Queen's sleeves. The body of Rumpelstiltskin was just that, resting in the shallows. Belle knelt to support him, laying his shoulders against the rocks to keep his head above water, brushing aside the comb that lay there. He had troubles enough without being cursed on top of it. His face was grey, and his eyes closed. She touched his hair gently, then his cheek.

The Queen stumbled to the shore, to the boundaries, and bared her teeth like an infuriated cat. "He won't be the strongest forever, little girl," she hissed, whirling and stalking away.

Belle smiled.

The Queen got less than three paces before Belle stepped out of nothing in front of her.

"You forgot your leaving gift," she said.

The Queen tried to step back, but roots shot up through the ground, tangling around her legs, locking her where she stood. "Get away from me."

"You didn't do that when I asked you nicely," Belle said sternly. "I asked you to leave and you give me nothing but threats. I don't like being threatened. I don't like being cursed and almost drowning. I don't like it when someone tries to steal the heart of the man I love."

She could see the Queen trying to gather the power to her, but it shied from her and her hostility. So magic liked to be petted and teased, did it? Belle smiled and closed her eyes and it spiralled around them, binding the Queen in glittering nets of power.

"You hurt it too much," Belle whispered. "You hurt everything too much. That's why it all goes badly for you."

"Stop talking!" the Queen cried, struggling. "Let me go!"

"Hush, dearie," Belle whispered, stepping closer and laying her finger against the Queen's lips. "No more talking." She put her lips close to the Queen's ear. "I'm not a bad person. I don't hurt people. I don't want to hurt you. But you hurt him. You scared him. You would have broken him. I can't forgive that." She drew back to look into the Queen's face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and thrust the golden comb with its red red roses, plucked from the rocks at the riverside, deep into the Queen's hair.

The Queen screamed and then, she didn't.


	15. Recovering

Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Rumpelstiltskin slowly opened his eyes. For the first time in many years, he felt physically exhausted, even if his body was restored to him. That, he supposed, was the price of having one's heart ripped out.

He took a breath, and caught the familiar scent of his room, his home.

"You're awake," Belle whispered. She was sitting by the bed, her face pale and tired, as if she had barely slept. Her hand caught his, clasping it like a lifeline.

He tilted his head to look at her. He couldn't be sure if the glow about her was the sun streaming in the windows or the residue of magic clinging to her, wrapping around her like a gossamer cloak.

"You sound surprised," he murmured, his voice raw and hoarse. He lifted a hand to rub his face, then gazed at his hand. He was both relieved and disappointed to see it was as it had been for years: inhuman and still shadowed by his curse.

"She took your heart." Blue eyes were fixed on his face. "You let her."

He laughed briefly, his chest aching. "You took it back. I knew you would. My brave hero."

She climbed up onto the bed beside him and nestled against his side. One small hand stole over his chest, resting over his heart. "How did you know I would give it back to you?" she asked in a whisper. "All that power?"

He curled his fingers into her hair. "Because," he murmured, "you're you." He tilted his head to kiss her crown. "You were magnificent."

She leaned up on her forearm to look at him her eyes searching his face. "You know what happened?"

He covered her hand on his chest. "The heart knows," he replied quietly. He was unsurprised when her face crumpled, tears spilling in sheets down her cheeks. "Hush, dearie. Hush. You did what you had to."

"I never wanted to kill someone," she sobbed. "I tried to make her stop."

He drew her back down to rest her head on his chest, stroking her hair. "You only returned on her what she had already done to you, using her own magic against her," he said. He took a breath, then lied gently, "You didn't kill her, not truly. Only a curse, a binding curse."

Her sobs quieted. "Only binding?"

He stared at the ceiling and nodded. "You were struck by the comb, and yet, here you are. If her true love comes for her, I'm sure she would be fine."

She nodded slowly, and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I can feel your heart," she whispered. Her hand moved in a slow circle beneath his. "It was beautiful, you know. Like a living jewel."

He stroked her fingers. She didn't realise just how great a risk he had taken. The power bound to him, the magic, it was addictive and overwhelming. And yet, there was no one else in the world he would have or could have trusted.

"We're home," he murmured.

She nodded. "Well, I couldn't just leave you lying in the water, could I?" She tapped his sternum with her fingertip. "It's so strange, seeing the world with magic. It's as if the whole world is glowing and everything is linked by golden threads. It let me carry you home." She smiled, just a little, against his chest. "It felt like flying."

His fingers were buried in her hair, and he tried to remember the last time he had seen magic that way. More often that not, it was like shadows, something on the edge of his senses, something terrible and undulating and ready to devour him whole. The deals were a way to keep it in check. A balance. A service and a price. Nothing for free. Since Belle's arrival, it had been less hostile, but it was still far from safe.

"You're very lucky, dearie," he said softly. "It likes you."

She laughed. "No," she murmured. "That's not how it works. It's how you approach it. I didn't understand until I saw how it was with her. If you're cruel, it'll be cruel. If you're afraid, it'll be frightening. If you're in love..." She shrugged. "That's what it felt like to me."

He stared at the ceiling, dazed.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" She kissed his chest. "Is something wrong?"

"You seem to have learned more about magic in an hour," he said softly, "than I have in my whole lifetime."

She leaned up on his chest, her body warm and soft against his. "That's because I actually study," she teased, then leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose.

"I see," he said with a half-smile.

She folded her arms on his chest, propping her chin on her crossed wrists, and gazed at him. "I need to ask you to do something for me," she murmured, tilting her head as he stroked his fingers gently through her hair.

"Anything."

"Don't ever, ever do anything like that again," she whispered, and for a moment, her calm voice trembled. "Don't scare me like that. Even when I put your heart back, you didn't move. I thought you were dead. You were so still for so long."

"Belle," he said softly, brushing her cheek with his fingers.

"If you do," she warned, unfolding one arm to tap his chest with a fingertip, "I'll kill you myself."

"No dying," he agreed, "on pain of death."

"Can you sit up?" she asked.

"I can try," he said, as she sat back. "Why?"

"Because I want to hold you."

He stared at her for a moment, then struggled to sit up. His chest still ached and he looked down. There was a star-shaped scar, where the flesh had torn apart. The Queen hadn't cared for gentleness in the least. It would remain there, he knew, dark magic burned into him, even though it's maker was gone forever.

It was a dizzying thought.

Belle had done what he could never have done on his own. With his heart and her courage and strength, the one person who had never stopped threatening them was finally gone. As much as the scar ached, it felt like a great burden had finally been lifted away.

Belle moved behind him, framing his body with her own and drawing him back to rest against her chest, her arms around his shoulders. She rubbed her cheek against his temple, and one leg wrapped around him, tangled in skirts and bedding.

He leaned back trustingly, closing his eyes, his hands covering hers on his chest.

"Now," she murmured, and the tone of voice made him wonder if he hadn't just arranged himself in a very nice trap of limbs, "I couldn't help notice something, when I brought you back."

"Oh?" he murmured, shivering pleasantly when she kissed his ear.

"My rose," she murmured, nuzzling his throat. "The one you gave me. Is it some kind of magic rose? Before, when I brought you in, it was glowing. I thought it was magic, but I didn't get a chance to look closely. Was it?"

"Oh. Yes." She really did know all the most delightful places to nibble on his neck. "S'Gaston."

The nuzzling promptly stopped.

"Pardon me?"

Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes, going over what had just been said, then winced. "Ah."

She swatted his shoulder. "Did you turn my fiancé into a rose?"

"Only a little," he said sheepishly.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she groaned. "I was wrong. You're a very bad man."

He tilted his head to peek timidly up at her. "He does make a much more interesting flower than a man, you have to agree," he said.

She frowned at him sternly, but he could see her lips twitching. "That's hardly the point! When you're feeling like yourself again, we're going to go straight down there and you're going to undo it, so we can send him home."

He squeezed her hands. "And you can send a letter to your father with him if you want," he said. "He was looking for you. I think he would like to know you're safe."

She stared at him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, as if he had just given her the greatest gift in the world.


	16. Trusting

**NOTES**: This is the penultimate chapter and I hope you've enjoyed the journey with me :) And yes, to those who asked, this is a completely AU AU. If that makes sense :D

* * *

In the end, Gaston was freed two days later.

Belle was more relieved by Rumpelstiltskin's returning strength than the appearance of the man who was her fiancé. Poor Gaston all but collapsed as the spell was undone, though he groped for his sword at the sight of Rumpestiltskin.

"No," Belle said, catching his arm.

On the other side of the room, Rumpelstiltskin gave a little giggle, back to his old self again. He was even wearing his wretched dragon-coat, making himself look as troublesome as possible. She made a note to throw something at him when Gaston was out of sight.

"I'm here to rescue you," Gaston said before he fell over.

Belle sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Gaston," she said, leaning down to help him sit up. "I don't need to be rescued. I'm fine. I made a deal and I'm not going to break it."

It took several attempts to get him onto the chair, while Rumpelstiltskin cheerfully leaned against the window frame, sunlight glittering on his skin and coat, as if he hadn't had his heart ripped out three days before.

"I see why this one was sent, dearie," he said, grinning. "All strength."

Belle shot a look at him. "If you're not going to say something useful, would you mind not saying anything?"

He bit his bottom lip, as if innocent of any crime, his hands splaying on his chest in feigned shock. He was playing it up and Gaston was looking more and more horrified by the moment.

Belle shook her head with a smile.

She pulled up a chair, and then calmly, and quietly explained to Gaston that no, he could not free her, because she wasn't really imprisoned. No, not even if he was the brave knight who came to fight for her. No, she didn't want to be carried off and rescued, and no, she really didn't need someone to slay Rumpelstiltskin for her.

"I don't understand."

Belle took one of Gaston's large hands between her own. "I know," she said. She looked over at Rumpelstiltskin, who was standing beside his wheel, turning it slowly with one fingertip. He wasn't spinning, just watching the wheel turning. "I don't either, but I'm happy here." She looked back at Gaston. "I want you to go and to be happy too."

When he finally left, he was bearing a letter to her father, and Rumpelstiltskin even managed to be civil to him. It wasn't quite an apology for months spent as a magical flower, but it was close enough.

"Happy?" he asked quietly. He had returned to his wheel, his hand resting on the rim.

She smiled, gathering up the teacups. "Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He looked at her for a moment, then away. "I thought you might have realised," he said quietly, "when you spoke to him." She looked up from the tray, frowning at his tone. "Why you're trapped here. Why you can't leave."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, approaching him, crockery forgotten.

He looked at her. "You remember what you said to me, that night I came to your father's house?"

"Of course. I said I would go with you." She closed her eyes. Of course. The wording was very clear. "Forever. I will go with you forever."

His lips trembled. It wasn't a smile. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Why?" she asked. "I was there. You told me what the deal was. I chose to accept it. Forever."

"And if I could break the deal?" he asked, gazing at her. "If you could be free to go anywhere in the world? If you were no longer bound to me?"

"'If' doesn't come into it," she said, stepping closer and taking his hand. "Deal or not, I'm going with you forever. Even if it means just this place for the rest of my life, I'm not leaving you, even if you told me to."

His shoulders trembled when he sighed with relief. "Good. Yes. Good."

She tugged on his hand. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her. "I'm happy," he said quietly, searching her face. "I want you to be happy too."

She smiled at that. "My silly little man," she said. "I've held your heart in my hands. I've fought a witch to protect you. I've wooed your library and your bed out from underneath you. Do you think I could be happy with anyone else? Who else could live up to all that?"

He laughed, a short, breathless sound. "I want to give you a gift," he said.

"It's not another enchanted fiancé, is it?"

He smiled crookedly. "How many do you have lying around?"

She laughed. "Only one that I know of." She held up a hand. "And I'm not keen on hair combs either."

"I can't tell you," he said. "It would ruin the surprise." He laid his fingers lightly over face. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed, and giggled as he took her by the hands and led her towards the windows. "Is it something outside?"

"You could say that," he said, releasing her hands. "Now, don't peek."

"Not peeking," she agreed, smiling.

There was a long, breathless moment, and she wondered if he had snuck away, when suddenly, his lips met hers.

She pulled back so sharply that she collided with the window frame, her hands leaping to her lips. "What are you…"

He offered her a small, fragile smile, a faint glimmer of humanity showing through his mottled features. "I don't want to be afraid anymore," he said in a whisper.

Her heart was thundering and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. He had power. He had everything he could possibly want. He even had her bound to him in word and deed. And he was willing to give it all up.

"Rumpelstiltskin," she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek.

"Kiss me again?" he asked, his expression hopeful, echoing her own words of so long ago. "It's working."

Belle smiled and kissed him.


	17. Liberating

Rumpelstiltskin was mistaken.

He kissed the girl, the spell was broken, his name was erased from the cursed blade, his terrible powers were stripped away. He was a man once again, nothing more, nothing less. He had believed that he was happy. That was why he had kissed her.

He was mistaken.

What he thought was happiness was only the very tip of a very large and much more incredible iceberg.

He wasn't ready for what was to come, but Belle wasn't about to let him hide from the world anymore. Despite his fears of the reprisals that would await him, and the dangers of the world outside his castle, she insisted that they go. She dragged him back into the light, into the world of people, of adventure, and to his surprise, he found himself growing happier by the day.

She wanted to do everything and anything, as long as it was something, and so they did.

At first, he expected attack at every moment, but when no assaults came and no enemies approached, the fear diminished, little by little until he no longer feared the darkness of the night or the silence before the storm.

They travelled to the furthest reaches of the kingdoms. They walked unscathed, rode unmolested, and even ventured into the canyons of the firebirds without being harmed. Belle swam with mermaids in Seacrest cove, emerging from the waves with strings of pearls and seaweed. They danced in the forest by the light of the fireflies, and for a moment, he could forget his lame leg. They rode the rivers on rafts woven together by the woodcutters of the high mountains, laughing as the rainclouds broke above them.

Everything was an adventure for her, and her enthusiasm and wonder was infectious.

She even instilled such a sense of daring in him that he even offered to visit her hometown with her. Belle's smile was brighter than the sun, and when she introduced him to her father, formally and properly, no longer the monster trading services for servitude, the astonishment on Sir Maurice's face was almost worth all the trouble it had taken them to get there.

"You enjoyed that, admit it," Belle said, some days later when they finally returned to the castle. Both had agreed that adventures were wonderful things, but sometimes, home was good too.

He set down the satchel from his shoulder on the table. There was a fine layer of dust covering everything, but after so many months away from home, that hardly mattered. It felt right to be back, with her by his side.

"Which part?" he asked. "When I fell overboard in the river? When you buried my legs in the sand? Or perhaps when you scared off those bandits by chasing them with my stick?"

She shot an impish smile at him. "All of it. Right up to making my papa almost faint."

He chuckled. "Well, this is something he didn't expect," he admitted. He looked across the room at his spinning wheel. It was strange to see it so dusty and neglected. For decades, it had been his comfort and his diversion. Now, it had been sitting untouched for months while he rediscovered what it was to live.

"You spin," Belle said with a smile. "I'll go and see what monsters are lurking in the kitchen."

He approached the wheel, leaning on his stick. With one hand, he slowly dragged it into a turn, fine dust cascading like smoke to the floor. There was only straw to hand, no wool for the spinning. Spinning straw into twine was possible, by the hand of a skilled spinner, and it took but a moment to find the rhythm.

He closed his eyes, the motion as familiar to him as breathing. The creak of the wheel, the scent of the straw. It brought back the memories of a child long gone, but also the woman still present. He could mourn the loss of Baelfire now, and he felt at peace as he let the straw and twine fly through his fingers.

He didn't notice when Belle returned to the room, until she laid her hands on his shoulders.

"Do you want to know a secret?" she asked softly, sliding her arms around him.

He tilted his head and opened his eyes to glance sidelong at her. "What secret?"

She smiled cryptically, then leaned down to whisper in his ear, "I can still do magic."

The wheel stuttered to a halt and he turned on the stool to look up at her. "That's no joking matter," he said quietly.

She smiled. "When you touch magic, magic touches you," she said, and moved her hand in a graceful circle. The dust swirled away from every surface in the room, leaving it shining and spotless. "Once it touches you, it never lets go."

He stared at her, and for a brief moment, felt a flicker of envy, remembering what he had once been capable of. But he knew he should not be surprised. When she had touched the magic, it had loved her. "How long have you known?" he asked.

She kissed his cheek. "All the time," she admitted. "Why do you think nothing bad happened to us on all our travels?" Her arms were warm around him and she confided, her breath warm on his ear, "I protected what belongs to me."

He trembled at her words, remembering a time when he had done the same, but he had done it with blood and death and, in the end, misery. She suited magic. It looked right on her.

"You shine," he murmured.

She circled him to sit down beside him. "So do you," she said, laying her hand on his thigh. It was like that night again, so many months ago.

He shook his head and smiled. He didn't need magic, not when he had her and his home. "I'm just a man, Belle," he said. "That's all I need to be now."

Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "A man who just spent half an hour spinning straw into gold," she said.

He stared at her, then looked down at the basket of twine. Twine that gleamed and glittered.

"I don't understand," he said, dazed.

She lifted her hands to frame his face. "Once it touches you," she repeated with a smile, "it never lets go."

He brought a trembling hand up to touch hers. "Like you," he said.

Belle just laughed and kissed him again.

**THE END**


End file.
